Hash 490: A Day of Wonder

 

Hares: Scooter Babe & Nasiturd Scribe: Nancy Boy

So I rolled up to the car park next to the water tank on Taipa Grande to see half a dozen hashers hanging around waiting for the beer truck to arrive: just another Saturday afternoon on the hash. I stepped down, said hello, sauntered over to take in the view and almost had a heart attack. Who were all that lot down below?

Looking closer I recognised TMH3 T shirts sprinkled among the massed ranks. Bloody hell, I thought, I must have died in my sleep and gone to Hash Heaven. I hadnt seen this many on the hash since the 400 run. Venturing into the crowd only confirmed my suspicions. Even beloved hashers whom we miss as we only see them a few times a year had, by some cosmic coincidence, all decided to come out on the same day - along with no less than 14 virgins. I couldnt remember performing any suicide bombings recently, so this must be real.

Just then our hares Scooter Babe and Nasiturd came puffing in red-faced from the hill and started the chalk-talk, announcing between breaths that this would be a live trail. Theres something strange going on here that I cant quite put my finger on, I thought, but my confusion gave way to admiration when they announced that they would only need a 5-minute start, and off they went.

We bounced along the jogging trail - Tittyana was back along with Roy, her extra baggage. The plane journey back from Las Vegas must have been long and hard and they were both obviously suffering from deep-vein thrombosis, having to reach over and massage each others buttocks as they ran along. Potential hash name Roy Rogers came to mind, but left it again as we all came at the same time to the first check, which offered a choice of ways, as they tend to do, and most of us ended up going up when we should have gone down. We dont usually miss opportunities like that.

Anyway, the ladies went down first, then it was the mens turn. We groped our way through the undergrowth and then followed them down a mysterious set of steps which had magically appeared next to a stationary pagoda. This led down past an abandoned pagoda on the old jogging trail, now overgrown. On down we followed them to the mini-graveyard above the cemetery road, and here I must confess to a sudden and most unusual bout of over-enthusiastic overtaking which only involved a modest short-cut and a large dollop of gravity. However, the Great Hasher in the Sky is always alert to that kind of behaviour: karmic retribution was immediately delivered in the form of a hidden rock which rolled over as soon as I landed on it and left me spreadeagled on a grave and howling with a twisted ankle. Betty came running along to see what had happened, and sympathetically noted Thatll be a down-down for short-cutting then.

We then hobbled down the steps to a check on the road at the bottom, then along the slow incline in the direction of the China Hotel. Another check at the steps opposite the top cemetery gates had us scrambling back up to the jogging trail and then on up the switchback steps to a check at the top of Taipa Grande. Nobody fell for that one: no hare would ever have been kind enough to take us straight back to the start, so we trooped down past the observatory or radar scanner or whatever its called to the park above the China Hotel to witness the shortest trail I have ever seen, with one check on each side of the road. This must be a deviously complicated part of the run, we thought as we scattered about looking for flour, but eventually we came across a big fat arrow next to the road that none of the FRBs had managed to spot as it was all of 50 yards away. Obviously the complicated bit lay between the hares ears, although in fairness they were probably just trying to save flour between checks.

The staff of the China Hotel must think their gym does fantastic business on the odd Saturday afternoon when a bunch of sweaty hashers comes pounding through their lobby and into the lifts. Lucky they dont seem to check our destination as its always straight out of the other entrance looking for flour. From there we ran down the airport ramp to the university grounds with a growing sense of foreboding: after a great deal of research we have discovered a universal truth which dictates that the lawn sprinklers automatically come on within 5 minutes after a hash trail has been laid past them. Luckily the Universal Supremo must have been having a quiet fag when the hares came by as the trail was intact for the first time in our recollection. It was indeed a day of miracles.

That meant that we didnt need to give up the search for flour and head for the eskies. What was even more unfortunate was that we then ended up doing a circuit of the lake in front of the Taipa museum houses, coming all the way back to the steps up to the water tank. As we arrived there The Captain came on his bike, heaved it over his shoulder and proceeded up the stairs at a faster pace than we could manage with only the remains of a water bottle to carry.

We reached the summit of the Mount to find that the hares had performed another miracle, looking fairly calm and refreshed after what must have been a most gruelling afternoons live haring, and indeed managed to make all the ladies and men come at the same time again, or at least most of the pack got in within a 20-minute period.

The circle began and Beer Master (i.e. me) got a bit worried: how could we feed the assembled throng when he had only bought enough beer to cater for half the number now gazing expectantly in the direction of the eskies? Not to worry though, this is when the next miracle occurred, for no matter how many down-downs were administered by our illustrious GM Pubic, who was indeed in savage mode, every time we opened the eskies there would always be a few cans left at the bottom.

Witnessing so many miracles in one day must have left us exhausted though because we wrapped up the circle and forgot to announce the on-on until most of the disciples had already on-onned home. That was a pity, because Beer Bitch, mistress of Arunas the on-on venue, welcomed the few who had caught the announcement with a round of free beer and poppadums, unless they too had been miraculously donated by the Universal Supremo. We didnt care though: it had been a day of wonder and we were getting used to miracles by now, the last of which was waking up on Sunday morning at home, in bed and wondering how Id got there.

More miracles next week - no need, weve found a hare.

On on

Nancy Boy